I tried to talk to him one Winter <br />when my mother was in the hospital <br />He was sitting in the parlor chair <br />taking a puff of his Camel cigarette <br />holding it firm between his fingers <br />like a half-eaten long pretzel, <br />you know the kind you could <br />buy for a nickel back then. <br />By the time I got his attention, <br />he looked at me and told me <br />it was time for bed, and would I <br />mind getting up early to put the <br />toys under the Christmas tree, my <br />brother and sister were still young. <br /> <br />I remember early mornings <br />the radiator in my room <br />would be swelting hot <br />and I could hear him downstairs <br />talking to my mother, the smell <br />of coffee, fresh and fragrant, my <br />father rushing around the house <br />He always <br />wore green khakis. <br /> <br />I dreamt of him taking me horse <br />back riding, his favorite daughter. He <br />would wear chaps and I would be <br />fancy in English velvet coats.We would ride <br />over meadow and countryside <br />only stopping to drink hot tea out <br />of his tall work thermos. Are you happy? <br />he would ask me, taking <br />off his cowboy hat and pulling at the ties <br /> <br />When I was a young girl, I imagined <br />my father reading me a story before bed <br />pronouncing each word distinquishly careful <br />plenty of time to talk to him and kiss him good-night <br />That time being my comfort, and he would be smiling<br /><br />Louise Marie DelSanto<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/comfort-4/
